


Cirrus Over Paris

by magistralucis (Solitary_Shadow)



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Based on a Real Life Event, Fool's Gold Takes Paris (2011), Heartwarming, M/M, Mild Angst, Short, Slash, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 23:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitary_Shadow/pseuds/magistralucis
Summary: Five twenty on a rainy Parisian morning and Sebastian Akchoté thinks he's in love.[Requested by@i-shall-die-an-old-maidon Tumblr. Short and sweet.SebastiAn/Kavinsky, based on videos from theFool's Gold Takes Parisshow (2011) where they kissed.]





	Cirrus Over Paris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [i-shall-die-an-old-maid](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=i-shall-die-an-old-maid).



> **Disclaimer: I do not know anyone mentioned in this story personally, this is strictly a work of fiction and I do not profit from nor claim to represent true aspects of their lives in this story.**
> 
> This is a request by [@i-shall-die-an-old-maid](http://i-shall-die-an-old-maid.tumblr.com), as said in the summary; more specifically, I was asked to write something based on [those](http://68.media.tumblr.com/344b170e82ce56aafb85df0103eb6fed/tumblr_o2jqaax04m1rwzzsgo2_250.gif) [gifs](http://68.media.tumblr.com/83c5cd0e687ec40cbb1b80b0310719a1/tumblr_o2jqaax04m1rwzzsgo1_250.gif), taken from a video of a [now six-year performance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjbLIeQ_oQg) where Sebastian and Vincent talk to each other, share brief touches, and even kiss. I quite liked how it turned out and it's a nice short piece to add to here - I really need to update more often - so here it is! Much thanks to @i-shall-die-an-old-maid also for letting me post this!  
> There are further notes after the fic, too. I had such an enlightening time researching this performance :D

**Cirrus Over Paris - A SebastiAn/Kavinsky Fanfiction  
**

\----------------------

Five twenty on a rainy Parisian morning and Sebastian Akchoté thinks he's in love.

He's in the Ed Banger offices. Alone. He leans his head against the open window, eyelids closing feverish against the cool breeze as he nurses the aches searing like a brand inside him. His fingers twitch _hard_ against his will and he sighs, glaring at the empty ashtray nearby. Pedro prefers the smell be kept out when he isn't around, so right now, the ashtray is but a cruel taunt; still, there is an illusion of choice for that particular ache. As for everything else that hurts, unfortunately, Sebastian is what they call _shit out of luck._

He blinks and sees double. He could use a friend more than a cigarette.

Swiping left to right out of anxiety, Sebastian gives his phone a once-over: no messages, no calls. He taps on the name of one particular friend and scrolls up five times, darting past messages read many times before, before he shoves the phone back in his pocket and slams the window shut.  
So, so stupid—six hours ago he was performing at a concert, _Fool's Gold Takes Paris_ , a concert that he hadn't even been _invited_ to before his best friend insisted on bringing him along. Six hours ago, Vincent Belorgey kissed him under strobe lights and layered music. It wasn't the first time that they'd kissed, and they might've been able to laugh it off like they did all the others if not for what Sebastian did: as the kiss broke apart, he reached out to caress the side of Vincent's face, and for all he knows right now that one touch has lost him his best friend. Vincent leaned into his hand, eyes sliding shut as if to _confirm_ that there was something more between them—but he was gone as soon as the show ended, and he hasn't answered a single call or text since, leaving a bewildered Sebastian to process all that's happened on his own.

The sofa is as good a place as the windowsill to angst on. Sebastian lies down, buries his head in his hands—then abruptly pulls a cushion close, groaning against it as his cheeks burn with shame. _Damn_ him for letting his guard down, and _damn_ Vincent for treating their friendly affection as a joke, until he suddenly decided to drop the facade. He can still see the other’s figure in the back of his mind, jacket over arm, disappearing into the darkness.  
He can still feel Vincent’s heated breath in his ear, scented citrus and stolen alcohol. He can still hear the tremor in Vincent's voice as Sebastian's fingertips traced away from his cheek, audible somehow through the music as he whispered: " _What's it going to be, Sebastian_?"  
As if Sebastian was just meant to know how to answer that. If he'd known what he wanted, he wouldn't have told Vincent about it _in the middle of a performance._ Sebastian had already been dazed by their kiss when Vincent asked this; he was so taken aback that he said nothing in response, and in return Vincent gave him a faint, trembling smile before turning back to the mixer. They pretended nothing was wrong for the rest of the concert, but the way he left without a word signaled that it absolutely _was_.

Basically, they've both realized that neither of them were joking at any point.  
Sebastian is terrified, and he thinks Vincent must be, too.

But that's the thing. Vincent has always been affectionate with him, but it’s only been after Sebastian released _Total_ a few months ago that he's acted like he wants _more_. That would be bizarre enough, but he only becomes _that_ intimate when they're performing or attending a show. It drives Sebastian absolutely insane because he can't figure out if Vincent's feelings are genuine or if he's playing it up for the crowd.  
It's not just smoky kisses one moment and casual pats on the shoulder the other, either, he's no hot-cold tease nor playing passion. What Vincent can get of Sebastian's lips in that short electric second he'll visibly savour with a sigh and smile, but he's never demanded any kiss that reaches _beneath_ the surface; the casual pat on the shoulder or back is never just that with Vincent, either, varying in meaning with weight and repetition and attitude. It's not necessarily an indicator of anything serious, and if it ever was, it's not strong enough a sign that Sebastian _must_ assume that something is brewing between them.

At that point he has to laugh at himself.  
_Not strong enough,_ he says. _It could mean anything,_ he says, while in the back of his mind a montage of every time Vincent dropped everything and _kissed him_ plays on loop. If his imagination ever ran off in a less helpful way before, he has yet to know of it.

People have begun to take notice, too. This isn't a matter to shrug off—it's not _disapproval_ Sebastian fears, but _expectation_ , whether it's anticipating Sebastian's next move or fearing that Vincent wants too much. "Don't be so lighthearted about it, Vinco, you'll get him _in the habit_ ," Thibaut scolded gently once; Vincent's response was a cloud of grey smoke and a laugh that sounded like hollow glass had shattered inside him, before he waved it off and stumbled downstairs for another drink. The way Thibaut looked at his departing figure, and then back at Sebastian, has long since convinced the latter that Thibaut said that out of _concern_ for both of them. Sebastian has known for a long time that his inaction is not ideal, but that was the first time he realized that it could acutely injure; he could do nothing but downcast his head, even knowing how much it hurt Thibaut to watch him helpless.

It is not a good memory. He would do well to avoid repeats.  
Or so he thinks, hours too late, having hurt someone else in the meantime.

Those reminders never come early enough.

 _This must look incredibly dumb to Thibaut_ , he thinks as he rolls to his side. It's not quite true – Sebastian knows it must look incredibly dumb to all of their mutual friends, not just Thibaut – but he'll stick to the thought, because Thibaut actually _was_ onstage with him and Vincent last night. They all promised to go and have a drink sometime after the show, too. That appointment's tonight, and it's the only thing that's preventing Sebastian from running over to Vincent's place to blurt out _: Hey, Vinco, guess what, I can't stop thinking about the way your stubble tickles my cheek or the way your mouth tastes on mine, and while I don't know what the fuck you want from me if you ever left me and I couldn't find you, I might just die._

_Just a thing to consider. You know. In case you want to go missing again._

Seven in the evening. All he has to do is to endure until seven o'clock tonight, still a half-day away. By then, anything could have happened between him and Vincent. Who knows, maybe he'd have gotten back in touch, hopefully long enough for them to determine whether _catching feelings_ is a problem or not. Until then, he can manage. Regardless of the outcome, things could be much worse; at least this problem isn't one his livelihood hinges on, or anything like that. He'll be _fine._

Sebastian is still absolutely dreading it.

\-----

_"So what's it going to be, you two?"_

Sebastian closes the wardrobe door. A lip stain dries on the edge of his coffee mug, still faintly warm at its base. He checks his watch five times in one minute and tugs his sleeves down twice. Ten past six and he's ready to go; anything else, he'll figure out once Thibaut's collected him.

And no. Vincent hasn't been in touch.

_"Bar? Teahouse? Strip club?"_

So says Thibaut, in reality the last person to enjoy such a thing. Sebastian smiles to recall his words, but only for a second; he's so tense that _expression_ feels awkward, both smiles and frowns clinging to his lips like cake crumbs. As he glances at his watch he vaguely wonders if he ought to have chosen the strip club instead; hardly an environment for discussion, but Vincent might have found _that_ tempting enough to come out of his shell. Never mind that Sebastian would have felt hurt to see him occupied with bare flesh and brighter things, if that’s a correct judgement of Vincent at all. He's questioning a lot about himself and his friend at the moment.

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you," he whispers, glad that no one else heard. He meant no malice, but Vincent might take his words as anything between thankful and accusatory, and he doesn't need more misunderstandings on top of what’s there already. But it _is_ true that Vincent was responsible for much of Sebastian's recent outings, letting Sebastian's music shine above his own and attempting to bring him out of his post- _Total_ slump; he’s coming to accept that Vincent would _not_ have done this if he hadn't felt something exceptional for Sebastian, but maybe he's known it plainly all along.

It was just easier on his soul to think that Vincent was being _friendly._  
Maybe it _was_ that to begin with, but—no longer, for sure.

Sebastian's fingers are twitching again.

Sebastian is unskilled at evaluating his relationships with others, but for this one thing he feels undeniably at fault; for all of his angst is worth, this just _isn't_ a very complicated problem that he's struggling with. He would not _mind_ being with Vincent, platonically or romantically, and he has the urge to send desperate proclamations over text or leave a muddled voicemail because it’s the quickest path to honesty he has at the moment. But that's a selfish way of dealing with it, for all he knows Vincent might think he _guilted_ Sebastian into confessing. The only correct way is to talk face to face, whether they end up discussing it alone or with a mediator present.

Either sounds dreadful. Funny how they were happy to mess around lips-against-lips in front of an entire audience, but wasted no time in becoming a red-faced, bumbling mess as soon as _honesty_ was demanded of them.  
At that point his phone rings: Thibaut's call. Sebastian picks up. " _Allô?_ "

"Evening, Seb," Thibaut sounds no different than the norm, quiet thought laced into every syllable. "where are you?"

"Home, but I'm ready to go. It's still on, yes?"

"Still on. I was hoping to talk to you before we got there," Sebastian frowns, wondering what that could possibly mean. A quick burst of static, then Thibaut’s back again. "have you heard from Vinco today? Like, at all?"

_Ah._

Sebastian waits it out, five full seconds – then exhales. "No. No, I haven't. I tried to get a hold of him, _many_ times, but..." He flounders, then lamely passes the ball back to Thibaut's court. "… what about you?"

"He's alive. He answered once." (Sebastian’s sigh of relief most certainly hasn’t gone unnoticed.) "I asked him if he was going to come at all, and-"

"And?"

Unlock trill in the background. Thibaut's calling from his home phone. "' _I'll try',_ he said. So I think I have it on good authority that we'll meet him there." Sebastian agrees silently; Vincent's not usually the type to beat about the bush, if he didn't want something he'd just say no and if he wanted Sebastian or Thibaut to fuck off he'd have said as much. The fact that he had words to spare for going out, but _not_ for Sebastian, can only mean that he's in as much turmoil as the younger man is. "But I wanted to know what _you_ think."

"... About what, him being there? Why-"

Thibaut's voice is as patient as ever. "About Vinco."

Oh, he knows too well what he thinks about Vincent. _Kind. Generous. Lewd_ , quite often. _Surprisingly shy_ , as Sebastian's come to realize. _Potential partner_ is somewhere in there, if Vincent will have him. The problem is that he is not used to thinking of himself or Vincent as _coy;_ they bonded over the opposite, so the fact that they've worked themselves into a situation where they can't say the things that need saying is disconcerting to say the least. Vincent began it, so part of Sebastian wants Vincent to finish it – if he cornered him after a show and pressed him up against the wall, hitching up a leg with eager moans and hard breaths, Sebastian wouldn't mind giving in. Part of him thinks _enough is enough_ , that he ought to just snatch Vincent up by the lapels and demand to know what he wanted, despite knowing that Vincent would never prioritize his own feelings over Sebastian's dignity, his interests – his _friendship._

"... Vinco is... very important to me."

Silence. Sebastian wishes he could be better at this. But at least he is honest.

"Life means whatever you want it to mean, so they say, but..." he trails off, teeth pressed against his bottom lip. "... the meaning he adds to my life... isn't something I could do without."

He leaves it there. There is no obligation for Thibaut to understand – Sebastian is too august to just spill his feelings out in front of people and expect them to get it right away. But because Thibaut is so close to them both, he cannot help but hope that he knows what Sebastian means, hopes briefly dashed when he simply clears his throat and says: "Just as I thought. Anyway."

"What the Christ, really?" Sebastian exclaims, cheeks rapidly flushing red. His outrage must have come across even if all else heartfelt hasn't, by the way Thibaut bursts out laughing. "Why the hell did you ask, then? Are you-"

"Oh, listen to yourself, Sebos. Now I'm about to tell you something very important. What you do with the information is up to you, but I think... well, let's say the _stars have aligned_ , and I hope it'll come in handy."

"... Ah?"

He can almost hear Thibaut's grin on the other end.

"I've a family call in the next few minutes. They haven't seen me in _ages_ , of course."

It's Sebastian's turn to be wordless, the phone pressing so hard against his cheek it’ll imprint there. Ten whole seconds go by before Thibaut gives him another nudge.

"I may be _some time_."

Sebastian closes his eyes, all the dread of the past twelve hours washing over him at once. No second wave follows up, however, and in that place _ideas_ begin to glimmer instead like seashells upon a shore smoothed clean; upon realizing this, he allows a wry little smile to tickle the corners of his mouth. Had they been talking in person, and had Thibaut not been as non-confrontational as God could possibly have made him, he might have pinched Sebastian's pale cheek and slapped him on the back with _a put on your big boy boots, Seb –_ but that's a mirror of _Vincent's_ personality all over again, isn't it, and isn't that telling as to what Sebastian really wants? Thibaut is nothing like that and still found a way to get his message across. Mediation need not be a third wheel imposing over fidgeting hands and melting ice.

"... I’ll go ahead."

Best not waste it.

"I mean, I do need to show up _sometime_. But in the meanwhile I trust that you'll be very tender with him, at least as much as he’ll be for you, if all those years of knowing Vinco means anything."

Now he thinks he knows the reason for the persistent tingle at his fingertips. _Tender_ , he mouths to himself, and flexes his fingers like he wants to caress Vincent's cheek again. "Tender, yes, like cloud in trousers," he says, and sensing that Thibaut wants to ask, chuckles quietly. "... Mayakovsky. Don't worry about us, Thibaut, I've faith it'll work out."

"If not you, who else? And even if it doesn't, you know I'll be here. It's my night's mission to see both of you through this, even if you end up staying behind."

An image of himself – shoulders bowed, dejected, alone – flashes past Sebastian's eyes. He winces at the sting of it, but the reminder was needed, and with Thibaut's support he knows he can get through this. " _Da,_ we will drink the night away, Thibaut; we will get so, so drunk," he says. "but I hope that we won't have to."

Thibaut laughs. Life is interesting whenever _Sebastian_ begs for sobriety. "You do you, Sebos, now I've about twenty people to get back to. See you later, yeah?"

"Thibaut."

"Mm?"

"You are the most _incredible_ friend."

Thibaut laughs on the other end. "Save it for Vinco. Later."

"Later."

It is time.

\-----

This bar is actually two bars, one on the left-hand side of the room and one on the right. In the middle is a dancefloor, but it's all tables and chairs and patrons tonight and Vincent is easy to spot. Sebastian sees him the moment he enters, and though his first instinct is to call out, he forces himself to pause and _assess the situation_ like Thibaut would have wanted him to.

Vincent’s at a corner table, back turned to the bar, his face drawn tight with exhaustion. He already has a drink in hand, but it's almost untouched and Sebastian's sure that it's water. It's uncharacteristic for him, and indicates a determination to meet Sebastian with his _resolve_ and nothing more. He wonders for a moment whether Thibaut's had the honesty talk with Vincent as well, but then dismisses the thought; it's not that important now that they're here, so near together and yet so far. As he watches Vincent his phone vibrates in his pocket and he knows without looking that it's a reminder, whether from Thibaut or the one he himself set, indicating that it's seven o'clock and the time for everything to come together.

So this is what it'll be, just the two of them.

The music changes. 'Embody' is up next. Sebastian startles, as he inevitably always does whenever he hears his music in the wild. But it's nothing compared to how Vincent reacts: nothing at first, then a slow, longing look toward the nearest speaker, staring at it as if he was waiting for Sebastian's soul to _seep_ out of it and bodily manifest in front of him any moment.  
It only makes sense then why Vincent insisted on taking him to his own shows, why all he ever played were his and Sebastian's own takes on their music, why he chose to be vulnerable during _recent_ performances and not before. Music is their shared language and _Total_ was the first true labour of Sebastian's soul. Vincent heard, and he saw, and he was trying to respond in kind where words failed him and gesture was never serious enough – before Sebastian began to look past him and more towards the masses, before Vincent was forced to lay his own soul entirely bare in turn, before _love_ and _lust_ and _public opinion_ took Sebastian away.

 _This is my heart,_ Vincent might have heard in his album countless times, hands covering damp cheeks or clutching at silver strands of hair. _Where's yours, Vinco?_

Sebastian's hand presses longingly over his heart.

_Where?_

Sweet, romantic creature! - How could he have been so blind?  
But the time for chastisement is past. Sebastian looks at the bar – back at Vincent, makes up his mind – and sneaks past to order their drinks ahead of him.

_What's it going to be?_

Vincent has always kept himself tasting nice before kissing Sebastian, usually with something minty or sweet, even sticking to pleasant-tasting drinks while performing so he'd always be ready. He remembers this as he places his order: Grasshoppers with a pearly sheen, a touch of vanilla ice cream with a cherry on top. Vincent's not a fan of cherries and Sebastian hesitates for a moment, contemplating whether he should tell them to hold the maraschino, but lets it go in the end. He'll just pinch off Vincent's, no problem, and besides they still have their stems. With any luck his friend will forgive the absence, not when Sebastian has a _trick_ that he's sure to find interesting.

(He's actually quite giddy at the thought. He's never had the chance to demonstrate it before.)

Thanks are said, and a generous tip is given in exchange for a tray. Sebastian glances up as he leaves and confirms that the tables around Vincent are all empty. It helps that Vincent knows _nothing_ of his presence or intent until the moment Sebastian comes up to him quietly, places the tray on the closest table, and covers his eyes with both hands as he whispers: "Guess who."

"...!"

Let it be said that Vincent is no stranger to surprises, though he's not fond of most. Sebastian's low voice helps to smooth that over, as well as the fact that he's here at all. Vincent is _remarkably_ slow to react save for that initial flinch, not even attempting to look around. Dejected and hesitant from the events of last night, he stares into the smooth darkness of Sebastian's fingers like he doesn't know where the next step leads, nor whether he's _meant_ to take any more steps forward at all. Sebastian smiles and pulls the tray forwards, placing it safely on their own table; just as Vincent's lips move in the shape of his name, he leans forwards, and keeps one hand over his eyes as he kisses him for the first time.

It's longer this time. Sweeter. Fortified with crème de menthe he's sure it'll be even more so, but this kiss must count _more_ than all that's come before or will after. Off the stage and shielded by darkness, they can take as long as they want. _Tender,_ Thibaut said; _absolutely tender, as cloud in trousers_ , Mayakovsky said; Sebastian takes it so, _so_ slow, the bar's lighting catching gold specks on his eyelashes as he keeps them blissfully shut and pulls the other man close. No inch of Vincent's mouth goes unkissed, and emboldened by the knowledge that he was worrying for nothing Sebastian even _sucks_ briefly on his bottom lip before letting go, his heart nigh beating out of his chest with nervousness but knowing that Vincent is getting what he asked for.  
He did ask what Sebastian wanted, after all. He might have run off without hearing the answer, but Sebastian hadn't _provided_ one, and it doesn't change that it was on him to do so eventually. Likewise, it was reasonable for Sebastian to want to be somewhere _private_ before he got to it. And here they are now, together in the comforting dark and the culmination of all their desires. They just needed a little push, that was all.

"Hah..."

His breathless sigh melds against Vincent's lips, followed up by a peck to bid him brief farewell. Vincent does not demand to see until after the kiss; Sebastian withdraws willingly once he feels the upward flicker of the other's lashes against his palm, and offers him a shy little grin, licking lightly over his own lips as if to taste the last of Vincent on his tongue. Something about that gesture reminds him that he's got _cherries_ to take care of, and he plucks his off his Grasshopper as he sits back and enjoys the dazed look on Vincent's face. "You know, Vinco, I never answered your question last night," he says, then pauses to _chew_ for a good long few seconds; when he finally draws out the cherry stem and sets it aside, it comes out perfectly knotted in the middle. "... I've been awfully impolite, as well as _oblivious_. I'll take whatever penalty you have in store for me, but... tell me, I'm not _too_ late, am I?"

Vincent looks at the cherry stem, then back at Sebastian. Sebastian holds his breath.  
Eternity seems to pass by before sudden _laughter_ blossoms on Vincent's face, eyes first and then lips, brimming full with relief as much as affection. Knowing Vincent, he won't regale them with anxious justifications for why he feels the way he does – no, there's only pure _joy_ in his warm brown eyes, looking forward to a life full of laughing and loving, or at least learning how.  
His smile ought to taste of honey, if Sebastian were to swallow it.

"Why, hello," Vincent whispers, and finally accepts his drink, their hands brushing warm against the glass. "hello, you."

**Author's Note:**

> * A cirrus is a high-level, wispy cloud.  
> * _Fool's Gold Takes Paris_ took place on the eighth of July, at Grande Halle De La Villette in the nineteenth arrondissement. _Total_ would have been released only a couple of months before, which is what I tried to get across with Vincent's comparatively newfound urgency in courting Sebastian.  
>  * The most entertaining thing I found while researching where and when exactly this performance took place was that _Sebastian is absolutely nowhere to be found on the line-up_. [Take a look](https://foolsgoldrecs.com/2011/05/26/fools-gold-takes-paris/). Given that they were playing next to each other, he really does appear to have been there because Vincent was involved!  
>  * Callbacks of "What's it going to be?" is better known through _A Clockwork Orange_. I was thinking of that book when I wrote this, though I'm not sure if I should call it a _reference_ , seeing as the rest of the fic has nothing to do with it...  
> * 'A Cloud in Trousers' ('Облако в штанах') is from Vladimir Mayakovsky, as said in the text. While it's probably not the best translation out there, I'm using the version found in John G. and Daniel W.'s _Russian Poetry, the Modern Period_ (1978): '... or if you prefer / as the sky changes tone, / I'll be absolutely tender, / not a man, but a cloud in trousers!'
> 
> And I think that's about it! Thank you for reading, and please comment or [drop me a line](https://kimbk.tumblr.com/ask) if you liked the fic! <333


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